The Bad Girlfriends Trio
by Marisa Hiyama
Summary: The girlfriends of the Bad Touch Trio are weird. Really. Weird. Random scenarios from the lives of these three girls in a random sequence. Enjoy! Edited by HonoMegami. Involves HonoMegami's, a friend's and my OCs. Rated T for somewhat suggestive humour, sexual references and partially-censored swearing. (Don't like, don't read please :))
1. Words Speak Louder Than Actions

A magnificent, golden glow lay drowsy and carefree upon the park's ground, creating a beautiful, mottled carpet as the sun extended her bright arms and pulled the park into a cool embrace.

Below her strolled a peculiar trio.

"Isn't it wonderful?" sighed the entranced Luxembourg with a whimsical air, shards of light tip-toeing serenely down her face as she contemplated the verdant ceiling above. "I feel an ice cream craving coming on!"

"It's kinda normal here," chuckled Tasmania, hands loosely hanging in the pockets of her shorts.

Malta smiled at the familiar sun. So pleasant it was… Not too cool and not too warm. "Your home's great, Jo!"

Tasmania turned and grinned a friendly grin. "Thanks, mate."

All of a sudden, Tasmania froze. The two other girls shot each other a perplexed glance before turning to the unmoving nation, staring while watching the cogs rotate inside her head. Her lips turned up at the corners, and she asked, "Have you guys heard of fanfictions?"

The Europeans shook their heads in negative response.

"They're these story things that humans write about us nations," Tasmania continued, spotting a bench and beckoning the younger girls over to sit with her.

While Malta was busy being ecstatic, Luxembourg merely raised her eyebrows and commented, "I'm flattered."

Tasmania plonked herself on to the unsuspecting wooden seat, which had been minding its own buisness until then. It's not as if it would complain. "Some fanfictions are a bit… _weird_, so-"

"Weird? Like, _sexual _weird?" interrupted Luxembourg with a naughty smile, joining her unlikely friend with a slightly larger amount of elegance.

"Sex stuff isn't weird, _idjota_!" Malta said jokily, hopping on to the bench.

Luxembourg, who had a short fuse and a habit of receiving the wrong end of the stick, responded with "I know that!" and seemed to misplace her posture somewhat.

A curtain that was an awkward silence was draped over the three; even the birds halted their sweet, mirthful chorus. The picturesqueness of the scene became even more apparent.

"You'll have to see," was Tasmania's feeble attempt at lightening the mood.

After a surprisingly brisk, silent journey (half through sun and half through cloud, as the sun gave up hope of eavesdropping on the trio's conversation after a while), the Australian nation led the Europeans, who were obviously evading each other's eye, into her house with a despairing groan. She made the fact that her patience was wearing thin clear via crossing her arms, tapping her foot and rolling her eyes, but she didn't prevail. "Right! For f*ck's sake! Lara; Elena: make up!" she complained, leading them up the laminated stairs and into her bedroom. Still irritated, she roughly yanked her laptop out of the grasp of its now lonely charging lead.

This ignited something in Luxembourg. A microscopic something, that is. "I'm sorry. That was immature of me," she apologised with approximately five per cent sincerity, keeping the promise that she had made with herself to not meet the gaze of the brunette.

Tasmania nodded her head in approval, dishevelled yet voluminous hair lazily following its movement, and patted the mattress in invitation. _The tiniest things_, she thought. _The tiniest things._

Once Luxembourg and Malta had made themselves as comfortable as possible (one either side of Tasmania), the Australian nation's nails began to drum gently on the laptop keyboard, fingers gliding like spiders' legs atop the illuminated characters. "Here's the site."

Three pairs of eyeballs – one blue, one green and one brown – swept across the screen.

"Ooh!" Tasmania exclaimed enthusiastically, earning her intrigued looks. "There's one about our guys!"

Luxembourg's eyes lit up as she absent-mindedly leaned closer to the screen. "Oh?"

"Wait, what's it rated?" questioned a curious but wary Malta.

"Who cares? If it's awkward, it'll be hot, right?" commented Luxembourg with a wink.

Tasmania decided to ignore the last words and answered the other. "It's an 'M'. We're all mature here, aren't we?" she laughed, and the others returned the laughter. "Let's go!"

"_Jo_*!"

"_Iva_*[2]!"

However, as soon as they had begun to read, Tasmania spotted a word in the fanfiction's description whose definition she had no knowledge of, performed a double-take and raised a hand in a request for her acquaintances to stop reading. "What's 'smut'?" she asked, brow furrowed while she waited impatiently for her mind to identify what the hell it meant.

"Beats me," Malta shrugged.

Tasmania dismissed the situation with a quick gesture of her hand and resumed reading the story. "So… They're at a sleepover…" she noted. "And Francis is being a perv again. Hah! Normal."

Luxembourg couldn't help but smirk at the comment regarding her lover.

"Wait – truth or dare? What is this: a girly pillow fight?!" chuckled Tasmania, images of her boyfriend, France and Spain giggling like little girls and lobbing soft, squishy projectiles at each other with feathers flying everywhere. "Sounds legit," she mumbled under her breath.

Malta saw her chance and seized it. "Well, Francis _is_ quite _feminine_!" she sniggered mischievously, eagerly awaiting Luxembourg's explosion.

Luxembourg merely answered, "And Antonio isn't?", much to Malta's frustration (at both being surprised by the other's lack of steam emitting from her ears, and her impressive retaliation abilities). The pair tenaciously maintained the jagged flow of their argument, their insults' offensiveness escalating at a frightening pace. Eventually, their words became so entangled that they transformed from to English to German.

While the old married couple were verbally clawing at each other's throats, Tasmania was occupied with reading the odd story. Her eyes widened like a rabbit's in headlights. "G-Guys… L-Look at this…!" she stuttered in between anxious thoughts, shakily pointing to the screen.

It was then that Luxembourg gave Malta an almighty shove, sending her tumbling ungracefully off the bed with a loud yelp. The Luxembourger proceeded to completely ignore the spread-eagled Malta's blunt obscenities and was at Tasmania's side in an instant like nothing had happened. Then she read it. "_Was ist das_?!" she shouted, forgetting to revert to English mode in the shock.

Malta, who had managed to right herself and was on the verge of strangling her frenemy, sensed the sudden alteration in the room's atmosphere and _very slowly _peered over Tasmania's shoulder. "What are you…?" she began. And then she read it too. "Oh! What the…?!"

"Why the hell is Gil pulling Francis' pants down?!" yelled Tasmania, trying to shut out the indecent images germinating inside and filling her head.

"Which part are you at? Because I'm hoping you mean 'trousers'!" Malta squeaked.

Luxembourg imitated her boyfriend's laugh. Which didn't help.

"Oh!" a now traumatised Maltese nation squealed. "Antonio would never do that! Especially not to Lara's boyfriend!"

"This is amusing," said Luxembourg flatly.

Tasmania, who was (supposed to be) the 'tough girl' of the group, almost dropped the laptop. "No… Gil wouldn't…!"

"Someone read the damned thing out loud!" grinned Luxembourg, who was savouring the extreme expression of disgust and horror plastered across her brown-eyed acquaintance's face.

"No!" screamed the others, appalled at the blonde's opinion.

In all frankness, she was only behaving in a perverted manner to mask her inner emotions, which were the spitting images of those of Malta and Tasmania. Inviting herself into the role of the main reader, she teased, "'Antonio knelt down and'-"

"Shut up!" shrieked Malta, somehow resisting the fantastically strong urge to strangle Luxembourg. "Look here: 'Francis climbed on top of Gilbert'-"

"Stop it!" Tasmania screeched, frantically extending an arm, quivering with panic, to introduce the cursor to the red-and-white 'X' of hope.

The Luxembourger reached out and gripped the Tasmanian's limb with tenaciousness. "_Nee_*[3]! Please, Elena, keep going. This is interesting!"

Malta hollered, "_Le_*[4], Lara! We're not old enough for this… this… w-whatever it is!" and crossed herself.

"Are you serious?! I'm the youngest here and I'm mature enough for this kind of sexiness! Let me see!"

Meanwhile, a traumatised Tasmania was desperately attempting to tear her annoyingly obstinate eyes away from the formal black font. "It's got to the _part_!"

The Maltese nation couldn't prevent her own eyes from glancing gingerly at the lewd words that had been chucked unceremoniously on to the previously innocent and undisturbed field of snow. And, oh boy, were they lewd. "Ah! My Antonio!" she cried. Despite her heart's constant messages that voyaged through her body, her perverse brain downright refused to tell her eyes to look away.

And hallelujah, the knees of Luxembourg's faux mind-set started to buckle at the overwhelming inappropriateness of the story, which didn't seem to have a plot. "F-Francis wouldn't do that…!" she stammered, flustered. Then, like Malta, she crossed herself and briefly looked towards the heavens.

"I feel your pain, _meine Freundin_," whispered Tasmania dramatically, clutching on to Luxembourg's arm (which had ceased clutching on to hers) for dear life.

"I… I don't think I want to read this anymore," the Luxembourger said with a barely-audible, nervous laugh.

All three nations' cheeks were splashed with a deep pink by then; even Luxembourg's… but they continued to read the fanfiction.

Malta jumped out of fright at the… _wide _vocabulary of the author, and covered her eyes with her trembling hands. "That's…! That's disgusting!"

"Oh please, Elena. You sound like a virgin!" sniggered Luxembourg, regaining her illegitimate composure, aiming to give poor, sensitive Malta the most hellish experience in her life for reasons unknown to her true self (which was hiding under Tasmania's bed).

Not that she wouldn't have done that to Malta as her normal self. Again, good reader, I remind you that her risqué attitude was fundamentally skin-deep. Fundamentally. She only wanted to seem tougher than Tasmania, but deep down, she knew that the very thought of it was ridiculous and close to impossible.

"Shut up! It's always the sex-based insults with you, isn't it?!" shot Malta (if 'shot' truly suits her condition), growing wearier and wearier with every breath.

Someone else who was fed up was Tasmania. "Guys! Quit your bitching or I'll close the internet!"

"Close it!" the brunette screamed. "Or else I'll never be able to look my gorgeous Spaniard in the eye again!"

_It's impossible to look away…! _Tasmania's mind shook with every sentence that it absorbed.

Luxembourg's mask wanted Malta to suffer. "'Francis _moaned_'" –she applied emphasis to the latter word– "'as Antonio explored his mouth with his tongue'…!"

Malta gradually slid off the bed and collapsed on to the carpeted floor with a dull _thud_.

"Oops!" Luxembourg giggled, a hand to her mouth as she looked at the apparently hilarious sight before her. She would cherish the concept of Malta face-planting for the rest of her life. And countries were immortal.

Tasmania had gone as pale as the background on which the smug, indecent words sat, long ago. Then, with Malta half-dead, she could find no reason to carry on with the story, if you could call it that. "I better close it," she mumbled under her breath, eyes with droopy lids attempting to comfort them still transfixed on the hypnotic monochrome writing that was beginning to resemble a dirty _War and Peace_ because of its unnerving length.

The blonde uttered a small noise of agreement and watched as the Tasmanian nation close the internet, which turned out to be cowering sheepishly in the corner of the desktop, and click the 'shut down' icon, which looked very inviting anyway. The taller nation then proceeded to drag the unconscious Malta out of the room.

***'Yes' in Luxembourgish.**

***[2]'Yes' in Maltese.**

***[3]'No' in Luxembourgish.**

***[4]'No' in Maltese.**


	2. The Chaos that is World W Academy

France was awakened from his book-induced trance by the sound of Luxembourg staggering into the room clutching an all-but-empty bottle of fine, French red wine. The new arrival smirked at the sight of her lover for no apparent reason, shifted her weight from one foot to the other and managed only a small, shaky step towards him. His welcoming smile gradually became a perplexed frown and then slipped into a despairing, knowing sigh. Fantastic. Luxembourg gave her hair a good flick to shake the stray strands of hair that annoyingly dangled down into her line of vision and groped along the dormitory wall for a handhold. Unsuccessful, she gave up and stumbled across the room towards France and fell on top of him, pushing him back into the previously-occupied, soft chair.

"_Moien_," she grinned as she realised that she was on her boyfriend's lap. Her unstable legs hung limply either side of his.

"Oh, great," sighed France, attempting to gently (but forcefully) detach his girlfriend from his school trousers. She was squeezing her legs together in order to prevent him from going anywhere. "You're drunk… again."

Luxembourg licked her lips, a ravenous, predatory animal, and flirtatiously teased her bottom lip with her teeth. France rolled his azure eyes, unaffected by the other nation's attempt at seducing him. Irritated somewhat, the Luxembourger proceeded to flutter her eyelashes, lowering her chin to lift her gaze.

"It's not working," smirked France. "I'm immune."

Luxembourg pouted. "Can I just have a quick French kiss, as the English call it?" she said, slowly but surely decreasing the distance between her and her lover's face.

The Frenchman hesitated (and the other sensed it) before giving in and pressing his lips to hers. He could taste the sharp sweetness which lingered on her breath and lips like a British love potion.

She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he returned the action, and she couldn't hold back a moan. He looked up to the heavens again, but he had to admit: he was goddamned enjoying it, even if she _was_ drunk as hell. She tugged at his shirt, as if to say, "Take it off", and he allowed his hands to creep down… down… down… and she accepted willingly. He-

"Hey!"

France froze mid-grab at the sudden exclamation from immediately outside the door, causing his girlfriend to whine for more like a bratty child. Regardless, Luxembourg continued to play with his mouth. Who cared if he didn't respond?

"No snogging in school!" the same voice rang out over the noises which escaped from the occupied mouth of the shameless, intoxicated Luxembourg.

It was then that France mustered the force to introduce his lover to the floor. She cursed loudly and glared up at the French nation, and that made him smile to himself. _She's so sexy when she's angry_, he thought.

Then, alas, the atmosphere was ruined. As it always was.

Malta, the owner of the voice, strode in and tried her best to loom menacingly over the drunkard and hopeless romantic (sounds like a pub), but failed miserably because of her lack of height and somewhat frail build.

"No going into the boy's dorm" –she paused to hiccup– "if you have t*ts," countered Luxembourg while slurring her words greatly, performing an extremely dramatic face-plant as a feeble attempt at gaining some amount of balance (if that was even possible in her state).

"I'd ignore her if I were you – she's wasted," advised France, watching intently, amused, as Luxembourg repeatedly flopped ungracefully on to the laminate floor.

Malta rolled her eyes.

"Exactly."

The brunette crossed her arms. "Well, as a member of the Student Council, I should give you both a detention…"

The Luxembourger's head snapped up and her eyes, which were almost as blue as France's, threw daggers at the Maltese nation in a soul-piercingly deathly stare. "Y'ain't doin' nothin' like that, b*tch!" she shot.

Malta merely gave her an 'oh really?' look that she probably got from England, her ex-coloniser.

"Oh, Elena," the Frenchman began in a flirtatious tone. "We've done much more than shove our tongues down each other's throats…"

Silence. A very awkward one at that.

"Y-You haven't…!" stammered Malta, eyes like clay saucers as a result of the shock. Wait: She wasn't surprised.

France stood up and brushed himself off and stretched casually, careful as to not show his desire for the obnoxious Maltese girl to leave him alone with his lover. He knelt down beside said lover and started to stroke her dishevelled hair seemingly absent-mindedly.

"In that case, I won't be lenient with my punishment!" continued the brunette, imitating England, who was the head of the School Council. He always knew what to do in this kind of situation. "Detentions for you both! What on Earth were you thinking?! You-"

Malta jumped at an unexpected _THUD_ which sent shivers down the spines of the walls and dislodged the nation's composure. Nervously and gingerly she poked her head around the oak door… to find (much to her horror) a young, shirtless, silver-haired man pinned against the wall by a lean, emerald-eyed girl, their lips firmly locked together. Malta's gaze panned down and met the man's shirt, which had obviously been unceremoniously discarded in any random direction. She grimaced as the shameless moans reached her ears, slapping her around the face in the process. "Jo… Gilbert…" she gasped weakly, her mind complaining, _Oh, sh*t. More f***ing _idjotas.


	3. The Chaos: Continued

Then Luxembourg and France emerged from the dormitory.

"What ya-" the blonde began, but ceased at the scene before her. "… Oh."

France raised an eyebrow.

And, at last, Prussia caught sight of his and his girlfriend's audience in the corner of his eye. Startled and flustered, he pushed Tasmania away (with a bit too much vigour, it appeared, as he received an angry slap afterwards) and turned her attention to the trio assembled outside the door of the boy's dormitory.

"The f***?! When did _you _get here?!" the Tasmanian nation exclaimed with eyes almost as wide as Malta's.

"_Mon Dieu_, Gil, I didn't know you did this stuff too!" chuckled France as he reached down to retrieve the Prussian's shirt to save him the inevitable embarrassment.

Prussia snatched the garment being offered to him by his best friend and threw it on with a face of a deep pink hue, muttering under his breath in his native language.

Tasmania, on the other hand, had an 'I regret nothing, b*tches' mentality and scolded her partner-in-crime for acting like a wuss. "So… you guys like spying on countries having _private time_, huh?" she said, shifting the blame. "That's really f***ed up."

"So is me gettin' p*ssed in school," commented Luxembourg, embracing the wine bottle lovingly despite the fault being its.

Everyone turned to stare at the physically youngest nation of the five.

France was the first to stare, because that remark reminded him that he had never queried where the alcohol had come from. "Lara…" he started, an arm slung around her shoulders. "Where did you get that wine?" He didn't think he would like the answer. He was right.

"Under your bed."

And sh*t went down. The end.

No, I wouldn't do that to you!

Malta almost cried. So many detentions to dish out; so little time!

The Frenchman exhaled loudly. "That was the last one…"

"Oh, I'm really sorry!"

Silence. Did Luxembourg just… apologise?

"It's okay," smiled France, kissing the shorter nation on the forehead. Neither of them could be annoyed with the other for more than five seconds. "Now let's get back to what we were doing before we were so _rudely interrupted_!" And with that, he grasped his girlfriend by the shoulders and propelled her into the dormitory, following suit and slamming and locking the door.

More silence. Then:

"We'd better be off!" said Tasmania, and, without waiting for a reply of any sort, imitated the French nation's actions.

The Prussian let out a considerably unmanly squeak as he disappeared into the storage room, which was, fortunately, uninhabited.

Even more silence, save for the indecent noises being emitted from the dark, macabre, alien depths that were the rooms of the boy's corridor.

Malta couldn't take it anymore. Oh, scratch that: She lost the will to live _before_ Tasmania and her apparent subordinate popped out of nowhere. And now, she was alone. _Perhaps I should go find Toni…_ she thought.


End file.
